Hysteria lurked in her voice. I swallowed my dismissive reply. Rationally, she knew this was all nonsense. She didn’t need me to tell her. That didn’t make her hallucinations any less real or her terror less overwhelming.
“We’ll beat this, baby.” I helped her to her feet. She leaned on my arm, seeming weak and drained. “You’re going to move in with me. Would you like that?”
“Yes, of course, but…”
“We’ll eat together, as often as possible. I’ll take care of you. You don’t need to be afraid.”
“But…”
“You’re forbidden to weigh yourself more often than once a week. And if your weight goes down…” I tried to sound stern. Deep down, though, I was full of doubt. Jana was a born masochist. What sort of punishment could I propose that would actually change her behavior?
“You want to please me, don’t you?”
“Oh yes–more than anything!”
“Then you’ll have to be brave, trust me, and eat what I tell you to. I won’t let you get fat, I promise.”
She slumped down in the bucket seat. I buckled the safety belt around her tiny waist. She stared down at her hands, circling her left wrist with her right index finger and thumb–checking that she was still thin enough to do so.
“Do I have your consent, Jana? I can’t force you to obey me, you know that. You have to agree.”
My darling was silent. Tears pricked my eyes. God, I didn’t want to lose her!
“If you can’t do this for me, sweet, I’ll take you home now and we won’t see each other again. I’m not threatening you–I just can’t bear to watch you starve yourself. I care too much for you.”
“No, please… I’ll try, I really will.”
“You don’t have to do anything but follow my instructions, girl. It’ll be easy. I’ll do all the work.”
It was anything but easy, though. I chose food that I thought she’d find less scary–salads, fish, fruit. She’d eat when I was there by her side, encouraging her, but she admitted when questioned that she skipped lunch on the days she was at the conservatory.
At least she’d stopped making herself throw up, or so she claimed. I had to believe her; trust is two way street. Still, week after week, the scale remained stuck at a mere ninety seven pounds, too low for my comfort, and Jana still nervously measured her wrist when she thought I wasn’t watching.
One evening nearly a month after our date at Ponticelli’s, I served grilled salmon fillets on a bed of arugula. I’d been holding forth about one of my recent cases, a particularly lurid divorce, when I glanced at Jana’s place. At first I was pleased. Then I realized most of the food was still on her plate. She’d simply cut the fish into tiny pieces and scattered them around, as if they were the remnants of a hearty meal. It was an old trick to make it look as though she’d eaten.
I sprang from my chair, knocking it against the wall. The crash made Jana jump.
“I give up,” I stormed. “I can’t take your sneakiness and dishonesty anymore. Go pack your bags. I’ll call you a cab.”
“Mel–no, please–I’m sorry…”
“It’s too late. Go play your games somewhere else. I don’t want a lover who looks like something from a concentration camp.”
“No, really–I’ll do better–I just can’t help it… please, give me another chance…”
Jana sank to her knees, bowing her head. Her hair floated over her shoulders like blond wings, exposing her tender nape. The vertebrae were clearly visible. My rage fled, to be replaced by tenderness and despair.
“I’m yours,” Jana murmured, so low I could barely hear. “Your girl. Don’t send me away. Please, Mel.”
I reached for her chin and raised her eyes to mine. “How can you be my girl when you don’t trust me?”
“I do trust you. Really, I do.”
“Not enough to let go of your fear.”
It hit me then. I’d been too indirect, too gentle. Low calorie meals and diet soda were not what she needed. That was cheating. She needed to experience the worst and make it through to the other side.
The first time I’d caned her, she’d been desperate to feel the rod slicing into her flesh, but also terrified. My instincts had told me I shouldn’t hold back. She’d safeword if she truly couldn’t bear it.
She’d taken everything I could dish out, then thanked me, smiling through tears. That night had brought us to a new level of closeness.
This was the same.
“Stand up,” I ordered. “And strip.” She’d come to dinner in her work clothes. My pussy clenched and grew damp as I watched her peel the leotard and tights away from her flawless limbs.
“I want you here.” I indicated a spot in the doorway between my kitchen and dining room. She scampered over. “Back to the frame, that’s right. Be still. I don’t want to see you move a muscle…” The harshness in my voice didn’t seem to diminish the joy lighting Jana’s lovely features. I couldn’t resist giving her nipple a fierce twist as I made my way into the kitchen. She sucked in her breath. Her beatific smile didn’t waver.
I rummaged in the utility drawer until I found a coil of rope. “Wrists together, arms over your head,” I commanded. She obeyed in an instant, my own pliant darling once more. I made four loops around those delicate wrists and two between them to tighten the strands. Then I fed the end of the rope through the serving window cut into the wall and back around, fastening her bound hands to the door frame. I wound another length through the aperture and around her waist. She could move her feet, but her upper torso was effectively immobilized.
“Too tight?” She shook her head. I didn’t really need to ask. I could read the answer in her flushed face, the taut, rosy nubs protruding from her teacup breasts, and the wet sheen painting her parted thighs. The position elevated her breasts in a way that was positively irresistible. Returning to the kitchen, I located two plastic chip clips, one pink and one orange, and clamped them onto Jana’s swollen nipples.
“Oh…!” she breathed. I brushed my fingertips across her damp pubic curls. Jana arched, trying to prolong that fleeting contact and making the gaudy clips dance. With some difficulty, I suppressed the urge to slide my hand into her cunt. Instead, I left her there, tied to the door frame, and went to extract the necessary ingredients from the refrigerator.
Bound as she was, Jana couldn’t see me, but I knew she’d be listening to the clatter of silverware against china and the whoosh of compressed air.
“What are you doing?” The raw anxiety in her voice was almost enough to stop me. I didn’t want to be cruel. She needed this, though. It was for her own good.
“You’ll see.” I drizzled chocolate syrup over my creation, then scattered a generous handful of crushed walnuts over the mounded top. Finally I arranged three maraschino cherries in a triangle around the peak–plump and red as Jana’s nipples and clit.
Her eyes widened in horror when she saw the results of my efforts. “No…” she whispered.
“You’d refuse me?” I flicked one of the makeshift clamps. She squirmed in her bonds. Her parted lips and dilated pupils confirmed that as usual, the bite of the rope inflamed her. “I thought you were my girl.”
“I want to be, but…”
“Then take a taste of this sundae I made, just for you. Doesn’t it look delicious?” It was, in fact, a thing of beauty: a mountain of vanilla ice cream swimming in a lustrous pool of chocolate syrup, sliced strawberries tumbling down the sloped sides, whipped cream wreathing the summit like clouds. Placing the bowl on the table next to me, I dipped the spoon into the gleaming concoction, gathering cream, nuts and chocolate, and held it to Jana’s lips. “Open wide.”
She tried to draw back. The ropes held her fast. I could see how the sensations triggered her arousal, despite her fear. Her pussy musk mingled with the sugary scent of the berries.
“You can’t escape, Jana. I’ve got you tied up tight, just the way you like. Safe and sound. I’m the one in control now. You don’t ha
ve to fight anymore. Just open wide and let me take care of you.”
I brought the laden spoon closer. All the while I held her gaze. “Trust me. I won’t let anything bad happen to my girl.”
“I can’t,” she moaned.
“You don’t have any choice, not now. I’m in charge, and I’m responsible.”
Hunger. That’s what I read in her eyes. “I know you want it, Jana, just like you want me to bind and beat you. That’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that, or with you. I love you, baby. That’s why I’m doing this. Now open up.”
I saw her struggle, and finally let go. She parted her plump lips and allowed me to deposit the contents of the spoon on her tongue. As she swallowed, I slipped my other hand into her drenched cunt. She gasped, tightening her inner muscles around my fingers.
“Isn’t that good?” I presented her with another portion, stroking my thumb over her clit as she accepted it. “That’s right.” Again and again, I spooned the sweet concoction out of the bowl on the table and into her waiting mouth. Meanwhile, I kept my fingers busy in her cunt, fighting terror with lust.
Every bite she accepted made me want her more. Under my clothes, my nipples were like granite pebbles and my clit pulsed like a second heart. I knew that this was far more difficult for her than any flogging or caning I could inflict. With each swallow, Jana confronted her most primal fear–in order to please me. I’d never experienced a more perfect surrender.
Finally the bowl held nothing but a shallow, chocolate-hued puddle. I tossed the spoon away and took possession of Jana’s sweet, sticky lips. “You really are my girl,” I murmured, licking a trace of whipped cream from the corner of her mouth. “You deserve a reward.” Giving her clit a final tweak, I withdrew my hand from her soaked folds.
“Oh, Mel….”
“Be back in a flash. Don’t go away.”
Jana glanced down at the ropes encircling her torso and smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I raced to the bedroom, tore off my suit, and struggled into my favorite harness. I nearly came as I settled the double-headed dildo in place. It was the longest, fattest one in my collection –the one that always makes Jana scream.
Her brows arched and her mouth made a perfect O when she saw me. She tugged at her bonds, not because she was trying to escape but because she knows how I love to see her struggle. I grabbed her hips, positioned my cock and drove it into her ready cunt in one fierce thrust. Wrapping her dancer’s legs around my body, she allowed me to support and control her. She weighed next to nothing.
As I clutched her ass and plunged the dildo into her juicy depths, she tightened around me. I felt every twitch of her inner muscles in my clit.
“Fuck me, Mel,” she begged. “Harder!”
How could I deny my beautiful, brave, twisted girl?
We came together. Pleasure roared through me like a freight train. My cunt spasmed around the silicon dildo base, sending the vibrations into Jana’s pussy. She screamed and jerked in her bonds, grinding herself against the rod impaling her. The sight of her rope-encircled wrists launched me into a new flight of bliss.
The echoes of our climax faded. I felt wobbly and weak. All at once Jana was almost too heavy for me to hold. She seemed to sense this. She relaxed her thighs. The dildo slipped out of her with a wet, sucking sound, sending a last bolt of pleasure to my clit. I helped her to stand then folded her into my arms, as well as I could given her bonds. The clips dug into my chest. I pulled them off, a bit roughly, because I knew that was what Jana wanted.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Her tongue traced the contours of my ear. I shivered and held her tighter. “I–I couldn’t have done that without you.”
“I told you I’d take care of you, baby. If I have to tie you up in order to make you eat– well, I’ll do whatever it takes. How do you feel now?”
“Full. Happy. Scared. I’m tempted to run to the bathroom. But you won’t let me do that, will you, Mel?” Devotion shone in her eyes but there was a hint of bratty mischief in her grin.
“I’ll take you to the toilet if you need it, but then I’m planning to tie you to the bed and give you something else to eat.” I released her wrists and then unwound the rope coiled around her middle.
“Something else?” Anxiety crept back into my lover’s voice. “Really, Mel–I don’t think…”
I extricated the dildo from the harness and held the end that had been embedded in my pussy to her mouth for her to clean off my juices. “Don’t worry. baby. It’s not fattening.”
Stroke
“No.”
I nearly jumped out of my sensible shoes at the unexpected command. I whirled to check the motionless figure stretched out on the bed behind me. “What?”
“Don’t close the curtains. I want to watch the moon’s progress.” I glanced back at the window. Sure enough, the silvery orb was just climbing above the silhouettes of the trees surrounding Lindenwood.
“Very well, Mr….” I squinted at his chart in the dimness. “Carver.” Jonathan Carver, age 64, acute right hemispheric CVA. Hemiplegia, nystagmus, transient apraxia, reduced peripheral vision in left eye.
“It’s Dr. Carver. Don’t they brief you damned nurses? Teach you some respect?” Even as I bristled at his rudeness, my cheeks grew warm with inexplicable shame. His cultured voice held an authority that brought me back to my school days. Mr. DeFazio and his infamous blackboard pointer. Tears in the eyes of the boys naughty enough to merit his punishment. I was always good, obedient and hard-working, but I remembered the heat of watching.
“Sorry, Dr. Carver.” The man fumbled with the bed control, trying to bring raise himself to a sitting position. “Let me help you.”
“I can do it myself.“A frown furrowed his high forehead, under a shock of steel-gray hair. It took him three tries to get hold of the button, even with his right hand. Clearly there was some bilateral damage. His lips pressed together. His chiseled features twisted in concentration. At last, the motor whirred and the back of the bed rose six inches. He sank back into the pillows with a disgusted sigh, scrutinizing his recalcitrant fingers. He had big hands, hands that looked as though they’d been strong.
I smoothed and straightened the coverlet, trying to hide my pity and embarrassment. “Are you more comfortable now?”
He brushed me away. “I’ll tell you when I need help,” he growled. “Hopefully, you can follow basic instructions.”
“I’ll do my best.” Something about his manner made me blush and stumble. I felt an acute desire to please him, to show him that I was competent and eager to tend to his requirements. Clearly he was accustomed to giving orders.
I tucked the sheet in around his feet, untwisted the cord leading to the bed control, and gathered the used paper cups from his bedside table. I needed to be doing something. His silence made me increasingly nervous.
“Enough, enough! Stop fussing and turn on the light. Let’s see what you look like.” His voice held all the power that his body had lost. I rushed to the switch, a flock of crazed sparrows fluttering in my stomach. “Come here, girl.”
I stood by the chrome railing, staring at my scuffed nurse’s shoes, sweat gathering in my armpits and under my breasts.
“Look at me.” His tone was softer but no less firm. I raised my eyes to his, which were the startling blue of glacial ice. I shivered and burned. “You’re new, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, Sir,” he corrected me. My nipples tightened inside my bra.
“Yes, Sir.” Just his voice was enough to make me ache.
“What’s your name?”
“Cassie, Sir. Cassie Leonard.”
“Don’t look away, Cassie. Look at me. Do you know who I am?”
“No, Sir. I just started at Lindenwood this week. Before that I was in the rehab department at Miriam Hospital.”
“My slaves call me Master Jonathan.”
My earlobes, my nipples, my fingertips, all seemed to catch fire. I wante
d to sink through the floor. I didn’t want him to see how his words excited me.
But he did see. I stared at my hands, knuckles white from gripping the rail.
“You have a boyfriend, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir, I do.” An image of Ryan rose in my mind, his brown curls and uneven grin, muscled chest and hard thighs. I did love him, truly I did, with his quirky humor, his gentle fingers and his boyish ardor. He was a fine young man. My mother approved of him.
“He doesn’t satisfy you.” It was a statement, not a question. Tears of remembered frustration pricked the corners of my eyes. “Why not, Cassie? Is his cock too small?”
I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with a stranger, a patient, a half-paralyzed man nearly forty years older than I was. I stole a glance at Dr. Carver. His mouth was firm but his eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth.
“No, Sir. His cock is fine.” Ryan was justifiably proud of his meaty hard-ons.
“What is it then? Is he a selfish lover? Does he come too quickly for you?”
Guilt washed over me. Ryan would happily spend hours licking my pussy and fingering me, trying to get me off. The only way I could manage it was to think about scenes from the kinky porn I hid from him. Whippings and spankings, gags and handcuffs, all the clichés that I couldn’t stop myself from wanting.
“Well? Tell me, Cassie. What do you need that he doesn’t provide? What do you want?”
My mouth filled with cotton. I couldn’t speak. I was acutely aware of my rigid nipples pressing against the starched fabric of my uniform. My clit pulsed like a sore tooth inside my sodden panties.
“Cassie, I’m waiting.” His sternness sent electricity shimmering through my limbs. “Don’t disappoint me.”
I dared a glance at his face. His left eyelid drooped slightly. His eyes snared mine. I couldn’t look away. One eyebrow arched in an unspoken question.
“I—um—I want him to, uh, to do things to me. That he doesn’t want to do.” I tried to break away from his gaze, but the force of his will held me.
Just A Spanking: Tales of Dominance and Submission Page 6
